1773
by Lopithecus
Summary: Clark meets Bruce in 1773 (Part of The Soul is But a Fragile Thing Series) [Part 1]


**1773**

 **A/N: For TheResurrectionist (on AO3).** T **his was supposed to be reincarnation but then the first part turned out to be longer than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I'm up to it, I'll turn it into a reincarnation** _ **series**_ **instead. ;)**

 **I also did a little research, like 18 century insults, 18 century words for cock, you know, the normal things. XD**

 **Translations will be in the end A/N.**

 **I'm not from the UK so I had to do some research on that as well. Hopefully nothing is wrong.**

 **No powers AU! (Which is something I never thought I would write, but here we are. :P)**

Clark lies on his side, breathing heavily and clutching at his aching ribs. Another kick comes from behind and he reaches a hand up to try and protect his head. This wasn't how he had planned this little voyage to be like. He thought he would be okay if he paid the fee and kept out of trouble with the rest of the poor. He thought he would be left alone. He should have known that the rich wouldn't tolerate such people. Clark closes his eyes and tries to think of how he can get the beating to stop.

"That is enough." Clark's eyes shoot open and the kicks and punches stop. There are no more names being said to him. Names like clunch, bracket-faced, cod's head and duke of limbs. He lifts his aching head to see a well-dressed man, around his own age, standing there looking nonplussed.

"Brucie! Come to join us?" The man who had started the beating asks, flaring his arms out to the side.

"Leave him alone," The man, _Brucie_ , demands.

Clark dares to sit up some, to watch the exchange closer. The man who addressed Brucie first looks agitated. "What do you want with a man born under a threepenny, halfpenny planet, never to be worth a groat?"

"Yeah, Brucie," another man joins in. "Don't be such a rusty gut."

Brucie, looking from one man to the other, ignores them completely and walks up to Clark. The man holds out a hand towards Clark, and Clark takes it hesitantly. "Come on." Brucie starts walking away and Clark follows in a rush, the men who were beating on him earlier letting them go. It perplexes Clark.

"Um… Sir-" Clark starts but Brucie interrupts him.

"Bruce." Bruce turns to him. "The name is Bruce."

Clark's eyes dart down to Bruce's outstretched hand and takes it quickly. "Clark. I am Clark."

Bruce quirks an eyebrow. "An unusual name."

"It is a family name," Clark informs.

Bruce's lips form a half smile and the man begins to walk again. "So, it is."

"Uh, Bruce, why did you just stop those guys?" Clark asks. "Why did they just let us leave?"

Bruce shrugs and opens the door to the hall that will lead to the cabins. Clark looks around. This isn't the area where the poor sleep. Their cabins are down under deck in damp, small rooms, four men or women stashed into one. This is where the rich sleep. "I have a lot of pull around here. That is why they let us go. They would not dare cross me. I could make their lives a living hell."

Clark hurries to catch up to Bruce, having stopped in awe at the extravagance of the hall. "And you saved me. Why?"

"I do not like to see people being treated poorly by bell swaggers," Bruce explains.

Clark falls in step with Bruce, pretending that it doesn't hurt to walk, or breathe for that matter. "And where are you taking me?"

Bruce gives him a side look. "Back to my room so I can take care of your wounds. I would bring you back to your room but there would be a bunch of rufflers in there that would only get in the way." Bruce's smile grows and again looks at Clark. "A room full of men. It is sure to bring a woman's commodity out, I say."

"Uh…"

One of Bruce's eyebrows raises. They have stopped in front of a door, Bruce holding a pair of keys. "What? You do not think four good looking men would be able to make a woman's man trap wet?"

"I…"

Bruce chuckles, unlocking the door. "Never mind. Come in." Bruce steps aside and allows Clark to enter the room. Though small, it is still lavish and very expensive looking. "Sit on the bed and take your shirt off." Clark does as he is told and watches Bruce as the man grabs a bottle of cream from the nightstand. Bruce then crawls onto the bed and positions behind Clark. "I will put some cream onto your wounds. There are a lot them."

"Well, they were not exactly holding back." Clark hears the pop of the cap to the cream and can smell it right away. "It is very flowery."

"Yes, well it is my wife's." Bruce places his hands on Clark's back, beginning to gently rub the cream into the black and blues scattered there. "She likes things that smell good."

"She has good taste," Clark murmurs, closing his eyes and humming at the feel of Bruce's hands gently gliding over his muscles. "Good taste in men too. You are very good at this. She is lucky to have a husband who can give her good massages."

"Hmm," Bruce hums, hands sliding over Clark's biceps lightly. "And your wife?" Clark flutters his eyes opens and looks down at the wedding band on his finger. "Do you give your wife massages, Clark?"

"Sometimes," Clark says. "I…" He trails off, not really knowing what to say. He had come on this trip without his wife, planning on settling in America to make a better living than he was in Norwich. He was then going to save enough money to bring his wife, Lois, to America as well.

"No explanation needed," Bruce's voice breaks through the silence, his hands massaging Clark's lower back. "Did your wife come with you?" Clark shakes his head, relaxing more and more into Bruce's hands. Bruce hums again, hands going to Clark's biceps once more. "My wife is currently partying up on the higher deck with the women of London."

Clark swallows thickly, his skin becoming clammy. "And is that where you are from? London?"

Bruce chuckles. "Is that not where all the rich men come from?"

Clark huffs a small laugh. "And why are you not with your wife now?"

He hears Bruce shrug. "I felt like having a bit of my…" Bruce's skillful hands wrap around Clark's body and down his pectorals, rubbing over already hard nipples, "...own fun."

Clark shivers as Bruce's lips press softly to his neck, eyes flitting close. His nob is already hard and when he leans back into Bruce, he can feel the man's is as well. "Fun?" Clark asks, licking his lips.

Bruce's hands are gliding over his nipples and stomach, lips grazing over the skin of his neck, up to his ear. "Yes, Clark, _fun_ ," the man purrs.

Clark tries to control his breaths. "But…" he doesn't finish what he is about to say before kissing Bruce, pressing back on those plump lips that are opening for him willingly.

It is fun, what they end up doing, and leaves the two panting and sated, lying naked under silk sheets of Bruce's room. Clark chuckles, giddy with pure happiness. "You enjoyed that," Bruce comments. Clark's smile slowly falls away and he sighs. "What is it?"

"What about your wife?" Clark asks, turning to the man.

"What about yours?" Bruce sits up onto his arm, propping his head up with one hand. The man is gazing down at Clark, no anger or irritation in sight. Just amusement. Bruce doesn't allow Clark enough time to answer, turning, and plopping back down onto the bed. "I am sure my wife has already gone back to some man's room and fucked his brains out." Clark raises an eyebrow in surprise and Bruce laughs at him. "She and I have an arrangement."

"An arrangement?" Clark doesn't mean to sound horrified but it isn't exactly a good thing to have such an arrangement as a couple. One is supposed to be faithful to their husband and wife. Clark peers down at the sheet, sighing. He is a hypocrite.

"You are disgusted?" Bruce asks him. The man still doesn't look offended or angry.

"No, I…" Clark sighs. "It is just a concept I am not used to. It does not exactly hold a good connotation."

Bruce nods. "So, you and your wife do not have such a thing between you two?" Clark shakes his head. "Does she know?" When Clark eyes the man, Bruce elaborates. "That you are a sodomite?"

"Must you use that term?" Clark asks, sitting up. Bruce continues to lie down, watching him. Clark crosses his arms. "No, she does not."

The room is silent for a short time before Bruce starts speaking again. "Your secret is safe with me."

Clark looks down at Bruce, at the man's gorgeous skin and features. Bruce is all muscles and pretty looks. "How did you know I would be interested in doing this?"

A smile forms on Bruce's face. "I tested the waters." Clark thinks back and tries to remember when exactly Bruce had tested him. Bruce answers for him. "When I was talking about the women and four men."

"That was you testing me?"

Bruce huffs a laugh. "If you were solely into women, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did."

"Or what if I am just a good guy who does not like to talk about women as if they are wenches?" Clark asks.

Bruce chuckles. "That could have been but then I suspect I would have a black and blue eye and a bloody nose by now instead of you naked in my bed."

Clark huffs stubbornly which only makes Bruce laugh more. When Bruce's laughter dies, Clark eyes the man again. "Does it hurt?"

Bruce looks at him. "Does what hurt?"

"Taking the woman's position," Clark says.

Bruce waves a finger between them. "This?" Clark nods. "Have you never done this before?"

"I have," Clark says quickly. "Once back in school. Year eleven. I was sixteen."

"That the only time?" Bruce asks him.

Clark lies back down and turns onto his side. "Yes, and I was still the man during it."

A small smile is on Bruce's face. "Someday, you will hopefully realize how insulting that is."

Clark's eyebrows scrunch together. "What?"

"Would you like to see what it feels like?" Bruce questions instead of answering Clark, leaning in closer to just barely press their lips together. "I would love to show you." In answer, Clark presses up and kisses him.

After the ship arrives to America, Clark and Bruce go their separate ways and Clark doesn't see Bruce again until years later when he reads in the newspaper about the man's wife, Selina, and daughter, Helena, being gunned down after a girls' night out. He tells his own wife that he is going to New Jersey for trade, and pays the first horse carriage driver willing to take him from New York to New Jersey handsomely. He arrives within a few days and then starts hunting down where Bruce's mansion is. It doesn't take long.

Clark knocks on the door and waits for it to be answered. It eventually does by an older man who looks like the butler. "Uh, hello, I'm here to see Mister Wayne."

"Master Bruce isn't seeing anyone at the moment," the butler tells him.

"It's okay, Alfred. He can come in." Alfred, the butler, turns around and peers at the man who had spoken behind him.

The butler nods and leaves, saying a quick, "Very well, Sir."

Clark steps in and closes the door behind him. "Master?"

"He's known me since I was a little boy. Insists on still calling me master,' Bruce explains, waving Clark further into the building. Clark follows and they end up in a large lounge room, one with a huge fireplace. "It has been awhile."

Clark takes his hat off, having forgotten it earlier, and stands there awkwardly. "It has but… I read about what happened. I am terribly sorry for your loss, Bruce."

Bruce isn't looking at him and instead at the floor. "And that is why you came here?"

"It is probably stupid but I… I felt like I needed to come," Clark says.

Bruce finally looks at him and Clark sees just how tired the man looks. "Do you have a family now, Clark?"

Clark doesn't answer right away, swallowing. "A son and my wife is pregnant with our second child."

Bruce nods. "You are lucky you get to have two children."

Clark watches the man. He doesn't bother saying that he doesn't feel lucky at all, that instead he is miserable in his life. "Bruce-"

"What are you doing here?" The question is sharp, agitated, and Clark pretends he didn't flinch.

"I do not… I do not know," he doesn't sound confident in his words but he hopes Bruce understands anyway.

But the man standing in front of him looks dead to the word, beaten and dragged through the mud. As if Bruce is done living all together. There's silence between them before Bruce finally speaks, accusatory and challenging. "Are you here to cheer me up?"

Clark hesitates, knowing what is being implied. Finally, he says, "If that is what you want."

Bruce shrugs, arms extended out to the side in invitation. "Then cheer me up."

Clark doesn't hesitate again and takes the four steps to get to Bruce, crashing their lips together. They end up in Bruce's bedroom by the time their breeches are stripped off each other, falling naked to Bruce's bed. The two explore each other's bodies as if they haven't done this before, marking every new injury or blemish with their hands and mouth. When they are done, they lie there in their own sweat, breathing hard.

Clark allows a few minutes of breathy silence to pass them before breaking it, turning his head to address Bruce. "Do you ever wish things could be different?"

Bruce turns to face Clark, inquisitive. "How so?"

Clark fidgets with the blanket, twisting it between his fingers. "Being with a man instead of a woman? _Living_ with a man instead of with a woman?"

Bruce's eyes search Clark's. "I fancy both men and women, Clark." Clark looks away, that statement somehow causing pain in his chest. "But you do not?"

"What did you call me all those years ago, Bruce? A sodomite?" Clark says to the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. Bruce doesn't say anything to this, just stares at Clark's profile. "It was always so hard to please my wife in bed."

"And yet, you still managed to get her pregnant twice."

"Do not belittle me," Clark snaps, moving to look at Bruce again.

"I didn't mean it that way," Bruce says, placating. Clark turns away once again, staring at the ceiling. "I loved my wife, Clark. Do you love yours?"

It takes a while for Clark to answer Bruce and the man waits silently as Clark gathers the courage to say what he's been thinking for years. "Not how a man should love his wife."

Bruce rubs a hand down Clark's cheek, speaking softly. "Do you wish you could have lived with me?" Clark looks at Bruce from the corners of his eyes briefly before facing away once more, not answering that question. Bruce's mouth is on Clark's temple, dragging down to Clark's ear, and then whispering, "You should go home, Clark. You do not want to leave your pregnant wife alone for too long."

Clark visibly flinches away from Bruce, out of the man's grasp. He eyes Bruce, not sure how to read those blue eyes that are staring back. He swallows and sits up, sliding out of the bed with a heavy heart. "You are right." He pulls on his breeches and grabs his shirt, jacket, stockings, and shoes. "I should get back to her." Before leaving, he looks at Bruce. The man doesn't look any happier than Clark does, but, of course, Bruce just lost his wife and child. Clark is just going back to a family that he isn't satisfied with. "I really am sorry for your loss, Bruce."

Bruce nods minutely and Clark sees the man swallow. "Thank you, Clark."

Clark leaves then. He never sees Bruce again.

 **A/N: Sorry for my uncreative title but I've decided that if I'm going to turn this into a series, all the titles are going to be the year that the fic is set in. I don't know why, I just feel like doing it that way. ;)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Translations:**

 **Clunch** \- _An awkward clownish fellow_

 **Bracket-faced** \- _Ugly, hard-featured_

 **Cod's head** \- _A stupid fellow_

 **Duke of limbs** \- _A tall, awkward, ill-made fellow_

 **Born under a threepenny, halfpenny planet, never to be worth a groat** \- _Said of any person remarkably unsuccessful in their attempts or profession._

 **Bell swagger** - _A noisy bullying fellow_

 **Rusty guts** \- _A blunt surly fellow: a jocular misnomer of rusticus_

 **Nob** \- _a man's penis_ (trust me when I say, this was the best alternative to some pretty bad and cringy names for it)

 **Rufflers** \- _a crew of men_

 **Commodity** - _A woman's commodity; the private parts of a modest woman, and the public parts of a prostitute_

 **Man Trap** \- _A woman's commodity_


End file.
